


Snared

by brokibrodinson



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, Hair-pulling, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5149361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokibrodinson/pseuds/brokibrodinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haytham discovers a new weakness of Connor’s. Naturally he takes full advantage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snared

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! 
> 
> As some of you may know, I haven't had access to wifi for a few months now, which as you can imagine makes posting fics quite difficult, which in turn has been rather discouraging when it comes to writing.
> 
> Anyway! As you'll probably be able to tell, this was originally a draft for that kink meme fill I did a couple of years ago, called Untamed. As such, it also has that theme of long hair kink and hair pulling, but is otherwise pretty different. 
> 
> I'm actually typing this and posting on my phone, so please excuse any typos I've missed or unexpected formatting issues.
> 
> Enjoy!

Haytham had loved Ziio’s long hair. He had seen it as a symbol of her state of mind – constrained in its twin braids when she was feeling calm and collected, and loose and wild as she came undone beneath his hands.

He’d watch with a sense of wonder as she collected each strand between skilled fingers and plaited it, swift and efficient. It was a shame to see it tied back again, and he always looked forward to seeing it flowing free again the next night.

Many years later, Haytham breath caught in surprise as he watched his son pull back his hood and release his long,  _long_ tresses from a messy bun. He felt a sudden pang of grief in his chest for the boy’s mother; a woman he could have loved under better circumstances.

He brushed away these thoughts with the ease of long practice, focusing his attention back on the situation at hand.

And that situation was Connor. Connor and his thick, silky, _beautiful_  hair.

Oh how Haytham longed to touch it, to stroke his fingers through it and remember.

Connor was pointedly ignoring Haytham’s impolite regard, brushing his hair behind his shoulders as he sat down, leaning against a tree. Eventually having had enough, he snapped, “You are staring.”

“You have unusually long hair,” Haytham observed calmly, snapping out of his reverie. “I was merely surprised.”

“Well be less obviously surprised,” Connor growled in reply, already beginning to tie his hair back. He  _hated_ being stared at.

“Don’t,” Haytham’s voice stopped him, as did his hand on his wrist. He flinched away from the contact, and Haytham removed the offending hand at once.

“I will keep my eyes to myself,” Haytham assured him.

“Very well,” Connor replied shortly, still perturbed. “Go back to your side of the camp.”

Haytham did not move away, instead sitting down uncomfortably close to Connor.

There was a tense silence, then -

“How do you keep it so clean?”

Connor leapt to his feet, staring down at his father in irritation. The movement made his hair seem to shimmer in the light of the fire as it swept behind him, his beads and ornaments clacking together.

“I will not endure this relentless prodding,” he snarled, ready to storm off.

“Very well, Connor,” Haytham said cheerfully. “What would  _you_  like to talk about?”

“Why must we talk at all,” the Assassin grumbled, sitting back down, this time a little further away.

“Well,” Haytham seemed to ponder the question. “We are blood after all; we may as well know more about each other.”

Connor grunted noncommittally.

“I brush it,” he muttered after a moment. “Before I go to sleep.”

Despite the simplicity of the answer, Haytham felt like he’d won a victory. “That must take you a while,” he commented thoughtfully. “May I touch it?”

Connor stared at him in surprise. “You wish to... touch it?”

Haytham nodded.

His son sighed, looking put upon. “Very well.”

Haytham shifted closer, slowly raising a hand and gently threaded his fingers through the younger man’s sleek tresses, admiring their silky feel.

“Don’t you ever worry,” he began, voice low, “that someone will use your hair against you in”- he pulled down roughly, wrenching Connor’s head back and baring his throat – “combat?”

Connor’s furious growl turned into an embarrassing moan of surprised pleasure at the sensation of his hair being pulled. He flailed uselessly, trying to shove Haytham away, but the Templar just pulled back harder.

“Well?” Haytham asked, breath warm along his throat, one eyebrow cocking in interest as a needy whine escaped Connor’s throat.

It seemed the boy rather enjoyed having his hair pulled – a fact he probably hadn’t even been aware of until now.

“I always keep it tied up,” Connor replied breathlessly. “It has n-never... been an issue.”

Haytham was quite intrigued at the position of power he found himself in. He’d intended only to prove a point, and yet here he was, Connor at his mercy.

He could draw a blade across his throat right this instant and no doubt save himself a lot of trouble in the future.

Or...

Keeping a steady grip on Connor’s hair, Haytham dipped his head to trace his throat with his tongue.

Connor gasped and jerked in surprise. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

Haytham ignored him, finding Connor’s pulse point and gently scraping his teeth against it. He felt it when Connor swallowed nervously, unsure of how to react. He was breathing quite unevenly now, not particularly comfortable with anyone touching his throat or neck. However the rough handling of his hair acted as a counterpoint to his discomfort; it hurt but for some reason he found it pleasant, even pleasurable.

Haytham smirked against Connor’s skin as the boy shifted carefully, trying to relieve some of the strain on his neck by baring more of his throat. As he leaned back to assess his captive, Connor surprised both of them by murmuring “Don’t stop.”

Haytham’s breath caught in his throat. This was turning out to be far more interesting than he could ever have predicted. He dropped his head again to briefly nuzzle at the area below his son’s chin, his lips ghosting against the vulnerable skin there. “You quite like this, don't you?” he asked wonderingly, a low chuckle escaping him.

Connor’s cheeks reddened and he made to look away, but Haytham’s grip on his hair was too strong.  

“Don’t be like that,” the Templar scolded, using his free hand to cup Connor’s chin and forcing him to meet his eyes. “Don’t fight me. Allow yourself to enjoy it.” Then he bent down and brushed a surprisingly tender kiss across Connor’s lips.

Connor’s eyes widened, and he stared at Haytham as the older man drew back again.

Haytham paused to loosen the grip he had on the flowing tresses of hair and instead let it wind around his fingers as he pinned Connor against the tree behind him, and kissed him to within an inch of his life.

The Assassin’s lips were soon reddened with thorough use, and his pupils were noticeably dilated as he panted for air.

Also rather breathless, Haytham gave them time to recover, amusing himself by combing his fingers through his son’s hair, twisting a strand of it around his finger and admiring its shine.

“Stunning,” he murmured, and though Connor’s cheeks flushed at the compliment, there was a tiny smile of pleasure dancing around his mouth.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and rather shyly.

Haytham smiled at him briefly before fisting his hand in Connor’s hair again and wrenching his head back once more.

This time Connor didn’t even try to resist the sharp intake of breath at the rough handling, the heady spike of arousal that followed.

“I rather like you like this,” Haytham commented offhandedly, his sharp eyes missing none of the body language that indicated Connor was enjoying himself as well. It was in the way his breath sped up and his eyelids fluttered, his lashes dark against his cheeks.

Feeling rather pleased with himself, Haytham dragged his mouth hotly against the bared flesh of the boy’s neck, tasting the bronze warmth of him. Connor groaned at the sensation, raising one hand not to push his father away but hold him in place, luxuriating in the Templar’s possession of him.

Seeking both to make himself more comfortable and improve his advantageous position, Haytham shifted closer, placing his knees on either side of Connor’s hips where he was still seated on the ground and pinning him beneath his weight.

At once Connor resisted, disliking feeling so crowded, but as he attempted to buck Haytham off and create more distance between them, he succeeded only in rolling their hips together, his already half-hard cock pressing firmly against his father’s and making them both shudder.

Despite knowing this had not been Connor’s original intention, Haytham was nonetheless quite smug at having succeeded in making his previously unyielding son offer some form of reciprocation. Mimicking the younger man’s actions, he rocked against him while continuing his thorough exploration of his sensitive throat.

It delighted him how every swipe of tongue and scrape of teeth, every soft breath and muffled groan against the skin drew the most fascinating responses from the Assassin beneath him. Connor was panting, squirming, eyes almost black with arousal as he let himself be trapped between the tree he was leaning against and Haytham’s firm weight.

Haytham’s cock twitched approvingly as he imagined having Connor laid completely bare beneath him, helpless to resist as he marked every inch of his impressive body.

But that was for another time.

For now he satisfied himself with the thought of making Connor beg for release, beg for the end of this ceaseless torment. He wondered if Connor would, or instead let himself be driven mad with teasing before he ever gave in to his foe.

As if on cue, Connor at last began to speak. “ _Father_ ,” he uttered breathlessly, “I cannot-... I-...  _please_...”

He felt Haytham’s smirk against his pulse before he raised his head to look at him. “Yes?” the older man asked curiously, even as he let his weight settle more firmly on top of his son.

Connor could only moan in response, thrusting fitfully against him within the small range of movement he was still allowed.

Good enough, the Templar decided, raising himself just enough that he could slip his free hand between them and stroke Connor’s hardness through his clothing.

The boy gasped and bucked into his touch, forehead slick with perspiration.

Growing impatient, Haytham released Connor’s hair so he could have both hands free to swiftly unlace his trousers and drawers, drawing out his cock and enjoying the way his son’s eyelids fluttered in surprise at the sudden pleasure of skin-on-skin contact.

Beginning to stroke him anew, Haytham leaned in to kiss Connor ravenously, his tongue plunging greedily into his open mouth. Connor sighed contentedly into the kiss, hips still thrusting into his father’s clever touch.

When he came he slumped back against his tree with a low groan, eyes shut, his lustrous hair streaming over his shoulders.

Removing himself from on top of Connor, Haytham sat back on his haunches and admired the picture of thorough debauchment he made, lips red and well-kissed, throat thoroughly marked and appropriately appreciated, his drawers soiled with the evidence of their activities not moments before.

Haytham smiled to himself, eyes darkening with pleasure. “Well this was a surprise,” he commented softly, chuckling as Connor startled at the sound of his voice, eyes flying open.

“I-...” he began hesitantly.

His father rolled his eyes, indelicately wiping his hand clean on the grass. “I’d keep that hair tied up,” he suggested, moving back to his side of the camp. “Lest anyone else tries to seize it.”

Remembering how incapacitated he’d been by both position and surprised pleasure, Connor coloured and nodded, already pushing it behind his shoulders.

Haytham watched with a twinge of regret as Connor bound his lovely hair once more and pulled his hood back over it, then hurriedly rearranged his dishevelled clothing.

He looked forward to the next time he would see his son so revealed.

Staring out at the trees, Connor supposed this was one weakness he wouldn’t mind having exploited every so often.

By the right enemy of course.  

**Author's Note:**

> I've said it before and I'll say it again; thank you so much to everyone who reads my stories. I appreciate each and every one of you, and it always brightens my day to read your comments and see you leaving kudos.  
> Thank you <3
> 
> Special thanks to the conhayth super trash club. You guys are the best <3  
> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


End file.
